Jeeves and the Cowes Week Cad
by Pjazz
Summary: To help out a friend, Bertie Wooster attends the Cowes Week sailing regatta and finds himself up to his neck in trouble.


**Jeeves and the Cowes Week Cad**

**A contemporary Jeeves and Wooster story**

**by Pjazz**

**2007**

The topic under discussion was ties. In the conservative corner, Jeeves; representing the more liberal tendency, Bertram. Both strong-willed and reluctant to give ground to the other. We were not unlike two Roman generals -Julius Caesar and Marc Antony perhaps - debating battle tactics to thwart the Barbarian hordes.

You see On my own iniative I had purchased a a rather natty tie in red silk with tiny pink piglets rampant, as it were. I considered it rakish and devil may care. The very thing a suave young gentleman about town might wear. Jeeeves however held an opposing view.

"No, sir."

No, Jeeves? You dislike it?"

"Very much so, sir."

"You find the pink piglet motif somewhat lurid?"

"Somewhat, sir. If I might suggest the dark navy Charvet in Chinese silk with diagonal stripes? It will go well with your Ozwald Boateng jacket."

"The Charvet lacks piglets, Jeeves."

"Yes, sir."

"I desire pink piglets, Jeeves. With tiny curly tails. The Charvet has no soul."

"I respectfully disagree, sir. A Charvet tie can never lack soul.It is the very epitome of modern sophistication."

"Pink piglets it is, then."

Jeeves winced slightly but acquiesced. The feudal spirit after all.

"Very well, sir."

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!!

My mobile phone chirruped into life. Glancing at it I found I had received a text message from my old pal Angus 'Smiler' Smilton. It read as follows.

**BRTE**

**SAILIN CWES REGTTA**

**CUM 1NCE URGNT**

**IMPRTNT U BRNG TWELS**

**XXXX TWELS**

**IN LVE EMMA BRAITHWAITE**

**DNT FRGT BRNG TWELS**

**SMILER :)**

I could understand neither hide nor hair of it. It was either written in code, or Smiler had been squiffy when he'd written it.

"If you'll permit me, sir..."

I handed the mobile to Jeeves.

"Ah yes, sir. It reads. Mr Smilton is sailing at Cowes Regatta. He wishes you to join him urgently. And to bring towels. A great many towels. He also vauchsafes he is in love with a miss Emma Braithwaite. And reminds you not to forget to bring towels."

"Odd, Jeeves, this hankering for towels."

"Yes, sir."

"Perhaps there is a nationwide shortage of towels we are not aware of?"

"Very possibly, sir."

"Still, one must rally round when a pal calls. Load up the Bentley, Jeeves, and ho for the seaside!"

Jeeves and I motored down to the south coast of Hampshire where we caught a ferry across to the Isle of Wight. Cowes is a small town of pleasant aspect perched on the island's north shore. Apparently a famous sailing regatta is held here every August and old Smiler was taking part in it. He had rented a small cottage on the Cowes waterfront and Jeeves and I repaired thither as quickly as poss.

We found Smiler sat on a chair in the front parlour, soaking wet and wrapped in a damp towel.

"What ho, Smiler!"

"Bertie! At last. Did you bring the towels I asked you for?"

"Most certainly. Jeeves has them."

"Super! Thanks, Jeeves."

"You're most welcome, sir."

Smiler wrapped himself in a huge fluffy towel, a smile of contentment breaking out on his broad face.

"Smiler, old thing, you're soaked to the bone. Has it been raining here?"

"No, it bally well hasn't. I've been out sailing and for umpteenth time this week I fell overboard. The Solent is extremely wet, Bertie, not to mention cold, and full of blasted jellyfish. I haven't been properly dry in yonks. It's a wonder I haven't caught my death. A pox on all yachts!"

"But Smiler, if you dislike it so much why do it?"

"Because I love, Bertie."

"Love what? Sailing?"

"Her, Bertie. Emma Braithwaite. She is the altar at which I worship. The light of my life. Twin souls."

"Hot stuff, is she?"

Smiler frowned.

"Hot stuff does not do her beauty justice. On seeing Emma Helen of Troy would have put a brown paper bag over her head and henceforth cancelled all ship-launching engagements."

"Then why the drowned rat look, Smiler? Does this Emma not reciprocate your passion?"

"Not as yet, but I'm working on it. That's why I'm here at Cowes. Emma's very keen on sailing and I'm hoping to impress her by doing well in the regatta."

"Any luck?"

"Yes, all of it bad. I haven't managed to finish a single race. I keep falling overboard. And to make matters worse I have a rival for Emma's affections - a snake in the grass called Rodney Faversham. You've probably heard of him?"

"Nope. Can't say I have."

"Well, he's very famous around these parts. He won the silver medal for sailing at the last Olympics. And swanks about it endlessly. He won the bronze medal at the world sailing championships and swanks about that too."

"Sounds a bit of a swanker."

"You said it. You'll be able meet Emma and this Faversham pest at the RYS ball tonight. I've wangled us invitations."

Once the racing is done there occurs a certain amount of _apres_-sailing revelry. Balls are held in sailing clubs all over Cowes, but none is more prestigious than the Royal Yacht Squadron Ball, held on the lawn of the Squadron castle itself. While the _hoi polloi_ desport themselves eleswehere in town the gentry gather here to swap yottie tales and imbibe restorative cocktails. This was a side of sailing I had hithertoo not suspected, and I must say heartily approved of. No danger of getting a soaking here - unless one fell into the punch bowl.

"Quite a turnout," I remarked to Smiler as dinner-jacketed to the hilt we stood on the RYS lawn.

"Hmm. Ah, here's Emma now. And the blasted Faversham excrescence. I was hoping he'd give this binge a miss."

Emma Faversham turned out to be a young female of about medium height. She had a shiny bob of black hair and face so radiant it would turn the strongest man's innards to jelly. Had she desired an acting career I suspect the fattest and most lecherous producers in all of Hollywood would've fallen over themselves trying to offer her a film contract. In a word she was an absolute belter.

"Angus, good to see you again."

"Yes, hullo, Smilton. Saw your swimming demonstration earlier. Laughed myself silly. You know, the point of this sailing lark is to stay aboard the bally yacht."

This came from a snarky bloke in a club blazer who I took to be the Faversham blighter. He was tall with dark wavy hair and looked not unlike those villains you see in silent movies who wear top hats and tie young damsels to railway lines.

"Oh Rodney, you're such a card!" trilled Emma. "Isn't he a card, Angus?"

"Yes. Quite the card," agreed Smiler through greeted teeth. "Allow me to introduce my friend Bertie Wooster. He's just down from London."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wooster."

"Oh, plese, call me Bertie."

"Do you sail, Bertie?"

"Well, I--"

"Bertie sail? Oh rather," interjected Smiler. "Why Bertie was practically raised on the water. Can't keep him off it. The fellow has salt water in his veins."

All absolute balderdash, of course, but she seemed to fall for it.

"Excellent. Then you'll be sailing with Angus tomorrow, I presume?"

"Well, I---"

"Oh rather," Smiler interjected once more. "Bertie will be at my side, never fear. I can count on Bertie. A friend in need is a friend indeed, That's his motto."

"Have you done the Fastnet Race?" inquired Rodney, who didn't seem quite as convinced.

"The Fastnet Race? Have we done the Fastnet Race?" cried Smiler, who was becoming more hysterical by the second. "I'll say we have. Never miss it. Gosh, yes. The Fastnet. Absolutely. First date in our diaries."

"Really? Because I don't recall seeing you there, Smilton. And I've raced the last six." said Rodney, his beady eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"That's, er, because I've got one of those nondescript faces no one can recall seeing. Sort of blends into the background. Gosh, how I'd love to have a descript face," said Smiler now babbling uncontrollably. "But there it is, I have a nondescript face not a descript one. Nothing to be done, I'm afraid."

"I see. Well, I look forward to seeing you both on the Solent tomorrow."

"Oh rather. Don't you worry about us. We'll be there."

Emma and Rodney left us to mingle with the crowd. I rounded on Smiler with some asperity.

"What the blazes were you babbling about, Smiler? You know perfectly well I don't know the first thing about sailing."

"Sorry, old man, but I had no choice. Emma's already suspicious of my bona fides."

"Bona fides?"

"Yes. She sees me as some sailing dilettante who doesn't take the sport seriously enough. I had to say something to bolster my reputation. You saw how chummy she was with that Rodney blighter."

"But I don't want to sail in your beastly boat."

"Relax, Bertie. There's nothing to it. It's as easy as falling off a log."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Apart from cruise liners and gondolas in Venice I hadn't set foot on an actual sailboat in my life until the following morning, when Smiler dragged me from my bed and down to the riverbank.

Seen from afar yachts seem elegant craft, scudding gracefully across the waves with nary a care in the world. The reality was much grimmer. Smiler's boat was called 'The Salty Breeze' and was no bigger than the rowboats you see on the Serpentine. True, it had a tall mast, a plethora of rigging and reams of sailcloth, but its single cabin was about the size of a rabbit hutch.

"Where are the bathroom facilities located? I inquired.

Smiler pointed to a plastic bucket.

"I trust I don't have to draw you a diagram?"

Quite.

Along with all the other competitors we motored out from moorings to congregate at the startline.

BOOM!

The starting cannon fired from the Royal Yacht Squadron platform and the race was on.

At first all went well. It was a warm day and the wind was at our backs, filling the sails and propelling 'The Salty Breeze' along at a fair old clip. I began to relax. I even waved to the landlubbers lining the island shore. This sailing lark didn't seem so bad after all.

Then it came time to turn a corner - or round a marker buoy, as it's known in the trade.The entire fleet converged on this one spot in the middle of the Solent, causing something in the nature of a nautical traffic jam.

"Water!" yelled Smiler.

"Water!" yelled another racer.

"Water!" yelled another.

Water! it seemed was yottie speak for 'move out of the way, you jackass!'

Fianlly it was the turn of 'The Salty Breeze' to round the buoy. Smiler gave the tiller a shove and the boat heeled over at a 45 degree angle to starboard. So intent was I hanging on for dear life, that I failed to notice the mast boom swinging across.

TWACK!

The boom caught me a juicy one on the side of the noggin. I lost my grip and tumbled over the side. The cold waters of the Solent cleft for Bertram and I vanished beneath the waves. It all went dark for a fair bit.

I came round to find myself back at Smiler's cottage, tucked between the warm sheets of my bed with Jeeves fussing about the place.

"Jeeves! What the dickens happpened?"

"You fell overboard, I regret to say, sir. The inshore lifeboat rescued you and and brought you here. I'm pleased to say there is no lasting damage, merely a small bump on your occipital lobe."

"My occipital what?"

"Your head, sir."

I was about to enquire where Smiler was when the door opened and the man himself entered. He was soaking wet and looked thoroughly miserable. I deduced he too had taken a spill over the side.

"Ah Bertie, you're alive? Good. You had me worried there for a minute. Dashed rude of you to abandon ship like that."

"I didn't abandon ship," I pointed out. "The ship abandoned me. How did the race go?"

"Last again, blast it. It's the end, Bertie. My life is over."

"It's only a race, old chap."

"Not the race. I don't care tuppence for the race. It's Emma. I've lost her."

"Lost Emma? Are you sure, Smiler. Have you tried the shops? You know what women are like."

"No, no. I met Emma and Rodney when I tied up back at the marina. Rodney made some crack about how I spend so much time underwater I should have brought a submarine. I lost my temper, hauled off and popped him one."

"You punched Rodney?"

"Right on the chin. He went down like a sack of coals."

"How did Emma take it?"

"Not too good. She called me a brute and made asperasions about my mental state."

"She called you a loony, you mean?"

"Among other things. I pushed off to the beer tent to drown my sorrows, when a couple of ticks later Rodney enters and starts buying free drinks all round."

I creased the brow. This sudden largesse on Rodney's part was very odd. He didn't strike me as the generous type. Perhaps Smiler's punch had temporarily scrambled his senses.

"Why the free booze?"

"To celebrate his engagement to Emma, that's why."

"What?"

"Yes, it appears while Emma was cradling him in her arms, asking where it hurt and so forth, Rodney had the unmitigated gall to propose marriage to her."

"The cad!"

"The absolute bounder. Life is no longer worth living without her. I intend to dry off and then stick my head in the oven and turn on the taps."

"That would be an injudicious course of action, sir," warned Jeeves. "It is an electric oven."

"Oh. Well, I dare say I'll think of something. Plenty of rope about the place. I'll hang myself after a spot of lunch."

"But Smiler, consider. There may be another way."

"Drowning, you mean? Hmm, bit ironic in the circs. don't you think?"

"No, I meant a way to get Emma back."

"Really? You have a plan, Bertie?"

"No, but I know a man who does. Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you have a plan to help Mr Smilton?"

"I may know of a strategem to exculpate Mr Smilton's present woes, sir."

"Eh? Does he always talk like that?"

"Always. It's the fish diet. His brain is positively bulging with nifty schemes. Go ahead, Jeeves. Exculpate at will."

"Well, sir, if I might first digress. Today I had a conversation with Hodges, Mr Faversham's

valet. Hodges was previously valet to Lord Mulberry, but left to join Mr Faversham's employ. Hodges regrets this now as Mr Faversham is a somewhat arrogant and aloof gentleman who treats his staff poorly."

"Yes, that's all very well, Jeeves, but--"

"If you'll permit me to continue, sir. Hodges disclosed some information about Mr Faversham that may be of some pertinence."

"And what's that?"

"Mr Faversham is a bigamist, sir."

"What? You mean he's married?"

"Yes, sir. To two women, concurrently."

"Great Scott, Jeeves. How does he manage that?"

"Apparently, sir, wife no 1 lives in Plymouth and wife no 2 lives in Brighton. Therefore the likelihood of them ever meeting is remote."

"And now he plans to make Emma wife no 3!" Smiler shouted in alarm. "The next concubine in his bally harem. Why the man collects wives the way some chaps collect stamps. Where will it all end? Soon he'll have enough wives to field his own private footer team."

"But don't you see, Smiler?" I said. "This is your ticket to win Emma back."

"Golly, you're right, Bertie. This is dynamite. I'll go and tell her at once."

"I think that is unwise, sir," Jeeves intoned.

"Eh?

"Mr Faversham will doubtless deny the accusation, while Miss Braithwaite will think you are merely creating mischief. If I may suggest an alternative strategy?"

"Suggest away, Jeeves."

"If someone were to steal Mr Faversham's mobile phone a text could be sent to both wives informing them Mr Faversham has met with some mishap and needs them at his side immediatetly."

"To confront him, you mean?"

"Yes, sir. When two worlds collide, as it were, Mr Faversham's subterfuge would be revealed."

"Brilliant, Jeeves!" cried Smiler.

I hated to be the one to pooh-pooh this scheme, but pooh-pooh I did.

"But Jeeves, how are we to steal Rodney's mobile? He carries it with him everywhere. Are you suggesting we become pickpockets?"

"That won't be necessary, sir. If someone were to break into Mr Faversham's rented accomodation tonight after dark then the phone could be more easily be purloined."

"Oh dash it. I can't tonight, " exclaimed Smiler. "I've got to go up to London. It's my parent's anniversary dinner. I can't possibly miss it. Mother would skin me alive."

"Perhaps Mr Wooster could do it, sir?"

I gave a start. I hadn't been prepared for this treachery on Jeeves' part. I shot the man a reproachful look.

"Me? Absolutely not."

"What? Is this Bertie Wooster speaking?"

"It is," I said firmly.

"You won't do this teensy weensy favour for an old pal?"

"No, I bally well won't."

"Bertie, you don't really mean that?"

"I do."

"Bertie..."

"I categorically refuse."

"Bertie..."

"Oh all right," I agreed.

But not with any vim. Not with any real vigour.

Midnight came and a discinctly ill at ease Bertram crouched behind the property Rodney was renting for Cowes Week. He had at least had the decency to rent a place on the outskirts of town, a rural locale without too much passing foot traffic. One doesn't need an audience when breaking and entering.

Screwing my courage to the sticking point, as I've heard Jeeves describe it, I climbed over the wooden perimeter fence and tip-toed across the lawn, fetching up against the back wall. It was a warm night and Rodney had left a window open to ventilate the place. This was an unexpected bit of bunce since no breaking merely a spot of entering would be required.

I hopped over the windowsill into the house and listened. I could hear running water and a man's voice singing sea shanties off key, the unmistakble sounds of a man enjoying a long shower. Lady Luck was surely smiling on me for there on a mantelpiece was Rodney's mobile. I grabbed it, stuffed it in my jacket and retraced my steps.

I was beginning to congratulate myself on a sticky job well done, when things started to go pear-shaped. Clambering back over the wooden fence I snagged the seat of my trousers on a protruding nail. Try as I might I couldn't get free. I was stuck fast six feet above the ground.

GRROOOWWLL!

In the gloom below I could see I had attracted company. A large black dog had arrived to investigate.

"Nice doggie. Nice doggie."

GRROOOWWLL!

Not so dashed nice after all. The dog wasn't one of those well-bred pekinese types you find in the city. This one was built more along Hound of the Baskervilles lines - with a_ soupcon_ of wolf thrown in.

"Good boy," I soothed. "Good boy."

GRROOOWWLL!

Matters had reached an impasse. I wriggled like a fish on a hook; the dog growled menacingly and displayed its fine set of fearsome incisors. I began to fret. I couldn't stay perched here for much longer before someone noticed and raised the alarm. It was time for drastic measures.

Slowly I undid my belt and eased my lower limbs out of the trouser legs. Thus liberated I was able to climb down off the fence. The dog seemed perfectly content with just my trousers for company and paid little heed to the rest of me as I crept away into the night.

Now I don't know if you've ever found yourself in a strange town after midnight _sans _trousers? If not, allow me to outline the general procedure.

Keep low and tight to any garden walls or hedgerows. Be prepared to throw yourself headlong into the shrubbery if you hear approaching footsteps. Be advised your bare legs will pick up numerous painful stractches and bruises from thorns and low hanging branches. Your nerves will jangle with moments of pure terror. Time will seem to stand still. A 20 minute journey across town will drag like centuries. Once home fix yourself a stiff brandy and pledge never ever to do another favour for a friend as long as you live.

I slept fitfully that night, my dreams haunted by sinister bear-like creatures with huge slavering fangs. Jeeves brought to an end what little sleep I managed by drawing the curtains and placing a fully laden breakfast tray on the bed.

"Good morning, sir. Mr Smilton has returned from London and is requesting your company."

"Bung him in, Jeeves," I said making short work of the eggs and bacon.

Smiler bounded in.

"Well, Bertie, any luck?"

"Yes, I pinched Rodney's wretched mobile."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you, Bertie. A man of infinite resource."

I recounted the nights exertions to Smiler, expecting a good deal of gratitude and not a little sympathy _vis-a-vis _large black dogs. Instead he laughed like a train.

"So you ran about the place minus your trews? In your pantaloons! Hahahaha! Gosh, you must've looked a frightful chump. I wish I'd seen you. I'd have laughed fit to burst."

Some gratitude. Some symp.

"Still the important thing is you nabbed the mobile. What now, Jeeves?"

"Now, sir, I propose to send each of Mr Faversham's wives identical text messages telling them I am seriously ill and they should proceed to my side immediately. By judicious use of text I should be able coordinate their movements so they arrive in Cowes simultaneously."

"Super. And Emma's bound to be there to see it all kick off. She never leaves the cad's side. Poor misguided child."

Jeeves biffed off and Smiler perched on the end of my bed, idly picking the last crumbs off my breakfast tray.

"I suppose you'll be sailing with me again today, Bertie?"

"Set foot on your blasted boat? Not a chance. One ducking in the wet stuff is more than sufficient."

"But, Bertie, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, the sea calm. Perhaps today is the day we don't fall overboard and go on and win the race."

And pigs, I informed him curtly, might ruddy well fly.

As it transpired my pessimism was well founded. Smiler returned home at 3 soaked to the skin and with a dead jellyfish in his hair.

"I tacked when I should have luffed! Or luffed when I should have tacked!" he wailed piteously as Jeeves dried him with fresh towels and a hairdryer.

"And the worst of it is that cad Rodney won the race again. He's almost certain to clinch the class honours now."

"Patience, Smiler," I urged. "Retribution awaits. Correct, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir. Wife no 1 and wife no 2 are presently enroute. I estimate they will be in position to confront Mr Faversham whilst he is attending tonight's RYS Ball."

"Should be quite a performance," said Smiler with relish. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Tuxedo'ed to the gills Smiler and I again weighed anchor on the RYS lawn. Rodney was present taking plaudits from all and sundry for his sailing prowess. Emma was at his side.

"Ah, Mr Smilton and Mr Wooster. Nice to see you both again," she greeted us with a chilly formality.

"And you, Miss Braithwaite," replied Smiler, also with a good deal of chilly f.

"Smilton, old man!" cried Rodney. "Saw you take another ducking today. You're getting dashed good at it. Perhaps you should make it your new career - prat-falling, I mean. Hahahaha!"

"Hahahahah!" trilled Emma.

"Hahahahha!" trilled Smiler through clenched teeth.

Just then the throng around us parted to let past a shapely blonde woman.

"Rodney?" she said.

"Madelaine?"

And I surmised that this was wife no 1, bang on schedule.

"Who are you?" Emma asked.

"I'm Madelaine, Rodney's wife. Who are you?"

"I'm Emma, Rodney's fiancee."

"What!"

"What!"

Again the assembled parted like a latter-day Red Sea to let through a shapley brunette. Wife no 2, if I wasn't mistaken.

"Rodney?"

"Abigail?"

"Who are you?" enquired wife no 1 of wife no 2.

"I'm Madelaine, Rodney's wife. Who are you?"

"I'm Abigail, Rodney's wife. Who are you?" she asked Emma.

"I'm Emma, Rodney's fiancee."

"What!"

"What!"

"What!"

And I must say, cad though he undoubtly was, Rodney did possess an extraordinary eye for a beautiful woman.In any beauty stakes All three could have given Salome and Cleopatra a headstart and still lapped them on the home straight.

"Madelaine. Abigail. Emma." said a heavily perspiring Rodney. " Listen, I can explain. Er -- heigh ho!"

And with these words Rodney spun on his heel and legged it.

"Hey!" yelled Madelaine.

"Hey!" yelled Abigail.

"Hey!" yelled Emma.

As one all three females sprinted off in pursuit. They looked like three attractive greyhounds chasing a dinner-jacketed hare. Madelaine, wife no 1, led by a short neck from Abigail, wife no 2, while fiancee Emma, hindered by a long cocktail dress and high heels, brought up the rear.

"Wow, look at him go," said Smiler admiringly. "Rodney can certainly shift when he needs to, eh?"

I concurred. I felt that by legging it Rodney had chosen the only sensible option available. His strategic position was poor. Confronted by 2 wives and a fiancee, none of whom had dreamt of the other's existence before today, a credible excuse to mollify all was going to be deduced tricky. Einstein might have managed it, but I doubt it. The General theory of Relativity might've been a pretty bainy scheme, but it was as nothing compared to the collosal explanation required to fob off 3 women, each believing themselves to be the sole apple of Rodney's eye. 'Scarper, Rodney," would've been Einstein's advice. And scarper Rodney did. One could hardly fault his application. He had already left the Squadron lawn behind and was halfway into town, heading for the ferry ports as if the very Hounds of Hell were at his heels.

Things quietened down after that. I knocked festivities on the head at about 9; I'm not much of a lad for late nights these days. Age has wearied me and the years condemn, as the saying goes. I left Smiler to it and headed back to the cottage.

I spent the rest of the evening on the terrace, enjoying the cool sea breeze and brooding on the extraordinary come-uppance of Rodney. What strange malaise had afflicted the fellow to so wantonly accrue a surfeit of wives? Perhaps the sport of sailing was to blame? A chap out there on the furthest reaches of the worlds oceans is apt to get lonely, with only dolphins and the occasional pelican for company. Naturally his mind turns to thoughts of matrimony. 'When I'm ashore, I'll marry,' he resolves. 'Perhaps a brace. Or three for luck. Oh hang it, call it an even dozen.' Before a chap knows where he is he has a wife in every port and a small notebook with their names for handy reference. It could happen to anybody, and it had happened to Rodney.

Suddenly the door was flung wide and Smiler entered. His bowtie was askew, his hair desheveled, his whole demeanour that of one who has imbibed a snooterful and neglected to say 'when'.

"You're sozzled," I observed.

"Abso-ruddy-lutely," Smiler agreed jovially. "I am sozzled as a newt. Or is it a skunk? I can never remember these nicities."

"Drowning your sorrows, I presume?"

"Not a bit of it. I am the happiest man in this world or the next. Or the next. Or the next. Or the next. Or the next. Right ho, press on. It's Emma, Bertie. She has agreed to be mine."

"What? But how?"

"We're engaged. The church is booked. The vicar in the slips raring to do his stuff. Emma confessed she had been in temporary thrall to that cad Rodney, but all that's over now. It's me she loves. I forgave her, Bertie, because that's the kind of chap I am - a forgaver, er, forgiver, rather. Rodney's been arrested for bigamy. All is right in the world. Wept on my shoulder."

"Who - Rodney?"

"No, Emma. Do try and keep up, old chap. I bent the knee and popped the jolly old question. And she said yes. She said yes, Jeeves."

"I am most gratified to hear it, sir," replied Jeeves who had just shimmered into the room.

"And it's all thanks to you, Jeeves. You and your mighty brain."

"Most kind of you, sir."

"Three cheers for Jeeves!"

When the echoes had ceased bouncing off the walls and the plaster stopped falling fron the ceiling, Smiler continued.

"Y'know Jeeves, I don't know why you bother working for this silly ass-"

"Hey!"

"- when with a mind like yours you could be Prime Minister. Or Emperor. How'd you like to be

Ruler of the World, Jeeves?"

"I am content in my present employment, thank you, sir. The hours may not be congenial"

"Pity, but if you say so. And my pal, Bertie." Smiler put his arms around me. It was like being hugged by an inebriated orangatan. "When chaps at the Drones tell me what a prize chump Bertie Wooster is, I say no, no, Bertie may be a prize chump, but he has a heart as big as the Albert Hall."

"Thanks, old man."

"Don't mention it. Wasn't it Shakespeare who wrote - 'something something something something something something'. And that, I'll think you'll agree, is telling 'em.

I furrowed the brow. I didn't actually recall this particular quote of the Bard's. Perhaps it was from one of Shakespeare's lesser known plays, like Corialanus, Cymbeline or The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

"And now I propose to end the evening by climbing on the roof and singing love songs at the top of my voice. I shall start slow with some Burt Baccarach. Lead into some Lennon & McCartney ballads. Then the big finish - Whitney Houston's 'IWill Always Love You.' Bellowed at maximum decibels."

"Is this wise, Smiler?" I cautioned. "A man in your condition."

"Nonsense. I am as sober as a lord. Or is it a judge? No, it can't be a judge. My uncle's a judge and the poor fish can barely stand."

"Smiler, I really don't think-"

"Hey, what are you doing to the room?"

"I'm not doing anything to the room."

"Then why is it spinning? Stop spinning, dash it. Oh!"

Smiler's eyes rolled to the back of his head, he gave a last graceful pirouette and slumped to the floor, unconcious.

With Jeeves' help I got Smiler up to bed. I left him there snoring contentedly. It sounded like a team of lumberjacks sawing down a forest.

"Well, Jeeves, the happy ending, what?"

"It appears so, sir."

"And all thanks to you."

"Most kind, sir."

"Not at all. Credit where credit is due. True, there were some canine related vicistitudes along the way. But all's well that ends well, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"That tie of mine. The one with the piglets. Jeeves - you have my permish to bin it."

"Thank you, sir."

"After all, what are ties or piglets at a time like this. Two hearts beat as one. Twin souls, and all that stuff."

"Quite so, sir."

"I think young folk today have an expression that is the _mot juste_."

"Sir?"

"Sorted, Jeeves."

"Yes, sir. Sorted indeed."

**THE END**

**authors note**

**This is my sixth contemporary Jeeves & Wooster story. The others can be found here on site.**

**While the characters and plot are wholly fictitious, there really is a Cowes Week sailing regatta held annually in Cowes on the the Isle of Wight. I should know, I attend most years. I heartily recommend it. It's more difficult than Bertie and Smiler make it seem to get invites to the RYS Ball, but there's always a warm welcome at the Parade Village or the Yacht Haven. Perhaps I'll see you there.**

**All reviews and feedback much appreciated.**

**Cheers then**

**PJ**


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